


A Kiss Softer than Snowflake

by jetblacklilac



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas AU, F/M, I was bored okay, Modern AU, this is the dumbest fic i've ever wrote lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-20 15:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15537474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: It's the annual Christmas party with the usual events with a few twists thanks to alcohol, a mistletoe, and adolescent problems about love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated lovelies !!!!

If anyone would ask her the highlights of the Christmas holiday, she’d answer of the snowy cabins her family goes to, the subtle escape from the difficulties of school that often burdens her shoulders with a practiced smile that hinted of her lie. Her true answer; is the only one that makes the holidays slightly bearable. A matter she wouldn’t dare discuss with her parents’ frequent guests in their cabins, snooping and trying to create a good impression so she’d say a word or two to them.

Jon Targaryen ; a boy close to her age and his parents are one of the closest pair of other lawyers to hers. A sufficient reason (excuse) to talk to him, to see him outside of school and to slightly divulge in her adoration (crush, really but she won’t use this term). One of her appreciation for this escape is seeing him in thick sweaters, scarves on his neck and at times, pink dusting his cheeks from the cold, almost as pink his lips. 

When they aren’t bounded by arbitrary school rules like popularity, they tend to actually talk and laugh over how silly the events they attend. Charity events and galas are essentially boring but with Jon; his jokes and his musical laughter, Sansa repeatedly wishes the night would never end.  He could be dancing with the other girls, heiress to empires that stretch worldwide. He could have anyone he wanted and yet he stayed at the corner of each party with her, head bent down and thickening the bubble that shield them away from anything that isn’t each other.

And now, the party is in its full swing, adults ambling about the cosy living room, alcoholic drinks in hand, and they conversed in low voices. Sansa went around, chatting with the people she knew by names and work. And of course, her parents have told her who is sleeping with who, the married couple who’s been married for years now because it’s essential in the manner of how to approach them.

It’s only a matter of time until her parents will call her over, to answer their guests’ inquiries with a polite tone and a smile that would make her cheeks ache when the part is over.

She checked her watch and realized it won’t be for another few hours. Edging away from the chattering adults, she asked for a refill for her drink to a waitress.

“Are you drinking champagne?” It was Jon, she knew without turning her head. It’s the unique rumble in his voice or she could’ve memorized his voice and counted each time they talked. “How’d you sneak a glass of it being underage?” He asks this when he’s closer now, right in front of her.

In the number of years they’ve known each other, his lame ice breakers varied and though she never laughed at them, she adored him for trying anyways. “It’s apple juice, Jon. They wouldn’t allow me to drink a drop of alcohol until they think I’m ready.” She replies and glances at him. Her eyes widen a fraction at seeing him in a suit.

She has categorized his attires in three groups; school uniform of indigo blazers, tucked in polo and slacks, winter clothing that consisted of layers of sweaters and jackets and scarves. And now, her favourite is whenever Jon smartly wears a suit.

He looked dashing, the blazer fits him perfectly and when he moves his arms, she can almost trace the bump of muscles, can see how his practices of football have been successful. The cinnamon in his hair appeared lighter and softer under the lights. His smile is the best thing she’s seen all evening.

But she wouldn’t comment on how handsome he is.

“Apple juice, how unexpected of you.” He says in ease as though they’ve known each other outside of their parents’ insistent need for parties and galas. In school, they barely spare a glance at each other, him being a jock with his teammates on his sides at all times and she, with her only friend.

“When did you arrive? I didn’t see your name on the guest list.” She should know seeing as her meticulous mother trusted her with that responsibility. She could recite the names of the people around her with no difficulty.

Jon took a sip of his glass of water. “Oh, we weren’t in your blessed list because your mother met up with mine days ago in some antique exhibition. She said to drop by at any time and I wasn’t sure I’d be here because our rest house is four miles from yours.” He explains, his lower lip glistens with the water that he drank.

“And yet you’re here.” Sansa replies, her fingers dancing on the chilled surface of the glass, restraining herself to do something impulsive. _Like run my thumb on his shiny lips._

“I am. We should grab a bottle of wine for our own. Your parents must have dozens in their cellar.” He urges in that enticing tone. If he used it to ask her to jump off some cliff with him, she would follow him.

She blinked, staring at her glass of juice, wondering if this is truly champagne. Why would he waste time with her? _He’s bored and you’re all starry eyed at him, you fool._ “Yes they do but we can’t do that, it’s not right.” She answered, drinking from her glass.

Jon walked to the door where a waiter stood. He got two glasses and whispered something to him. The staff went and retrieved Sansa’s glass as he gave her the other one. Now, they both stood at the doorway, blocking anyone’s path to the vast backyard, snow thickening in feet. “Salu.” He says and clinks their glass together.

“What is this?” She demanded with an arch brow. Sniffing it, she could tell it was sour and by the watered brown colour of it, her guess would be whiskey.

“Scotch and it warms you so drink up, princess.” Jon supplied and sipped from his.

He made the forbidden so enthralling with the way his lush mouth curves, his eyes of mist so clear, and everything else that’s _him._

She drinks a small portion and coughs at how warm and spicy it is, burning a path down her throat. Narrowing her eyes at Jon who was smiling, she took another shot. “You didn’t tell me scotch taste like this.”

“I told you it warms a person, princess.” Jon reminded her and his drink is almost half-done. “Let’s get you a refill after you finish that.”

She makes a move to deny him nonetheless, the strong and unshakable foundation of discipline and etiquette overcomes her childish attempt at teenage rebellion. But then she sees Harry, her ex-boyfriend from junior year.

What is _he_ doing here? She shrieked in her mind. Staring at the blonde, he came in a grey turtle neck cashmere sweater with slim slacks and leather shoes. His parents are behind him but they soon separate and leave him behind. She stared harder and finding no difference from the last time they saw each other. Or to be more specific, it was when he had his tongue down in another girl, some cheerleader of a different school.

Rage burned through her at the thought of her parents organizing such a coincidence. They truly adored Harry or how well connected his family is and perhaps they were more disappointed than they let on when she told them they were done. What other reason could there be for his presence intentionally omitted on her copy of the guest list?

“How-how can we even hide the stolen liquor from them?” She spat out, albeit unintentionally harsh but she’s too occupied with her cheating ex invading her peaceful holiday ogling at some other boy than him.

He noticed her change of attitude and looked behind his shoulder and looked back at her. “Uh, do you know that guy?” Hesitation made his words a little slower. His eyebrows are pinched and she could’ve _sworn_ worry is expressed on his face.

_He’s my first love who turned my heart to ash._

Harry saw her but she made sure she was still facing Jon, unaffected by this horrific revelation. She could tell because he was walking to them, determination and swagger in his steps and she hated him with a passion she hadn’t thought possible to possess. Panic gripped her because she’d rather disobey her parents than talk to him.

So, for the first time in her life, Sansa did something on impulse. No pro and cons table, no weighing of options, not even considering the consequences.

She stepped forward, curled her hand on his neck, stood on her toes, and kissed Jon on the mouth. It was supposed to be a brief moment, a fraction of a second. Guilt already filled her chest at this surprising action. She stepped backward but Jon stalled her action and pulled her _closer_ and his mouth stayed firmly on hers. It could’ve been a few moments or handful of centuries and she wouldn’t notice.

The drink on her hand felt like it would slip but she held it tighter while her other hand held the nape of his neck tighter like an anchor. Closing her eyes, she smiles shyly when he nipped at her lower lip. It doesn’t even occur to her they’re on the brink of making out in her parent’s social party in the middle of winter. All that mattered was Jon, his wandering hand roving on her back, his tiny nips and the skilful dance he’s teaching her.

It didn’t even occur to her how her siblings ran about, chasing other kids that they can see their older sister kissing the oldest family friend they have. Or even Robb, considering Jon as their brother, see them and could probably punch Jon.

Pity oxygen is a necessity and Jon pulls away, both heaving in breaths, their faces flushes, mouth so blaringly red, and they didn’t even need alcohol to achieve the drunken looks.

“I’m sorry.” Sansa whispers against his cheek, still standing on her toes and her nails have marked half-crescent moons on his skin. “Harry is my ex and he’s horrible. Well, not really he’s kind and all but he-“

It’s pathetic how the words got stuck in her throat, at how she rapidly blinked when the tears brimmed in her eyes. She stared at Jon and saw how intense his expression is, his hand on her hip pressing light and dizzying circles.

He pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead and nodded. “It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me. It’s something only the shittiest assholes do. Come, let’s steal wine like we planned.” He whispers on her ear. He keeps his arm on her hip, the warmth of him so intoxicating she thinks she’s half-drunk from it alone. _Funny, I didn’t need the scotch or wine to feel drunk._

Sansa laughed when she saw something dangling between them. She pointed upwards. “Mistletoe.” She stated with another laugh.

Jon laughed along. “And here I thought you liked kissing me. You were merely abiding by traditions.” He mourned with a pout.

“Did you know the fruits in real mistletoe are poisonous?” She quips as she glances over his shoulder to see Harry is no longer approaching her and can’t be seen anywhere. Relief washes over her.

“No but thank you for informing me, nerd.” Their second kiss is shy but tingles ebb along her veins nonetheless. She thinks it’s to really make sure her ex won’t go near her but Harry isn’t on her mind when Jon’ soft lips are moving slower now, more tantalizing.

They weave through the crowd only to be stopped by a familiar voice, Daenerys, Jon’s aunt. “Jon dear, would you-“ Her request is forgotten as she stares at them with surprise. The blonde smiled brightly at them, at how intimate they looked with Jon’ hand on her hip, Sansa snuggled up against his side.

“Yes, aunt?” Jon prompts like there was nothing shocking about what’s in front of his aunt.

“Refill my drink, would you?” She finally requested and gave them one more bright eyed beam before immersing herself in the talk of the senators around her.

Sansa, not wanting to be left alone, stayed beside Jon as he did as he was bid. “I thought you’d act out.” She blurted out as they sat on the leather stools facing the oval curved counter, waiting for the bartender to fulfil their order.

“Act out?” He asked for clarification with amusement. He swirled his chair so his clothed legs brush against her bare skin.

“You know, not be a doting son because you’re a beloved jock and such.” She explains and now, hearing the words it sounded silly. She chastises herself at seeing Jon’s mouth quirked to one side. 

He retrieved the drink Daenerys asked another waitress to return it to his mother. “Ah, you assumed I’m the rebellious badass jock. Sorry to disappoint you.”

 _I’m relieved actually._ She wanted to say, feeling foolish when she wholeheartedly believe the delighted gossips Jeyne tells her. Yet, on what other source can she rely on other than hushed stories of schoolgirls? Why did she even listen to her best friend? She should’ve changed the topic but it was too enticing, _he’s_ too enticing for his own good.

She scanned the crowd before her, her mouth curls in distaste when she spotted Harry. He’s talking to her parents now, most like complimenting Mother on her outfit and boosting Father’s confidence unnecessarily higher. _I would’ve appreciated it if he didn’t humiliate me._

“You want to dance?” Jon prompted, jerking his head to the group of adults swaying gently to a romantic wordless song that musicians are playing on a platform. He slid out of his seat and offered his hand.

“You want me to commit theft, you want me to dance. You’re awfully demanding, jock.” Sansa complains in a farce tone but she lays her hand on his and they’re making their way to the dance floor.

Their positions didn’t feel awkward as it should be. His hand on her waist, hers on his shoulder and they held hands. The song is now some gentler song, almost like a lullaby mothers would sing to their sleepy children except it retained the sweet, loving words that would make couples swoon more.

“My aunt likes to make me join her ballroom lessons.” He says against the top of her head. His touch is constant and warm; it almost convinces her it’s a summer night instead of a cold evening.

Sansa presses closer, careful to avoid his eyes. Not sure what to find in them, pity? She isn’t certain why they’re in this situation. An apology hangs from her tongue once more. But she doesn’t want to ruin this ease he created between them. Lord knows how reclusive she is seeing as how other than polite talks with him, she only ever talks with Jeyne.

“I do ballet.” She also confesses into his chest, still not daring to see how he might be bored or doing this because she’s desperate for an escape. He might be doing this as a duty of sorts and she hates how possible this is.

“Where?”

She pulls back a little bit but then his hand that’s resting on the small of her back flexes like a warning. _You think I’d want to be away from you?_ “Why? So you can see me twirl around in pink tights and a skirt for two hours?” She meant it as a jest to what she’s grown to like.

Mother told her it teaches a girl elegance and grace but all she’s gotten are aching feet and sore limbs. Yet there’s an odd enjoyment whenever the audience stands to their feet for applause. And for Jon to be one of them sends an undeniable thrill in her bones.

“Yes.” He rasps against her ear, low and resembles a thunder’s rumble. “And you’d make such a lovely ballerina. I’d fill your dressing room with roses in every colour or any flower you’d like.” He vows with such conviction she could almost see the bouquets filling the table she could barely see the surface of it.

His voice washes over her and she shivers, not from the weather but how dark and pleasant his voice is at this proximity. She blinks up at him, lightly biting her lower lip to which he ardently stares at her like they’re the only people left on earth.

“At-at the theatre on 46th street, where they hold the community plays but on recitals we use it. But we practice at the dance studio near the mall. And tulips and roses, as cliché as they are.” Sansa found herself answer and they still miraculously retained the rhythm of the dance.

His smile is all teeth and wolfish. She, his prey, doesn’t feels cared though. “The nerd that dances, how quaint.” He breathes.

Someone tapped her shoulder and she turns, expecting it to be some guest or Mother but it was worse; Harry is smiling with his hands behind his back. “Hello, Sansa may I have this dance?” He asks in such a polite tone one wouldn’t take him for an immoral person, someone who doesn’t value relationships and is so careless for his ex’s feelings.

 _It’s a trap,_ she realizes with grief. She can’t outright deny him because that would draw attention towards them and not to the perfectly boring party around them. These adults would be aptly eying them if anything out of the ordinary happened. _Truly, he is one of deception and cunning. Mother would be furious if I screamed at him or hit his head. I can’t be impolite._

Yet Jon didn’t have the same quick epiphany as he tucks her at his side and glowers fiercely that even Harry is taken aback. “Yeah no way _Harry_.” He says too roughly too loudly that an elderly pair with matching white hair glanced their way. “I think she’d do quite literally anything else.” He answers in a clipped tone.

_Yes, you._

“How about she makes the decision herself? Awfully presumptuous of you to think you know what she wants.” Harry taunts in that slyness only a fox would envy. His eyes, so blue and bright, glitters with mockery and his angelic face betrays how cruel he is. Once, she might have thought of him as an angel but truly, he is a devil in disguise.

She didn’t need to look around to see the adults being subtly increasingly interested in the scene. “He’s a wonderful dancer, Harry, a much better one than you ever were. No one can compare, really.” She told him as courteous as she can and even smiled at him, keeping the sweet façade as Jon leads her away from their audience.

“Do you know where the wine cellar is?” Jon asked as they went to the kitchen.

She nods and leads him into the hallway and to the basement. It was adequately lit and wooden shelves are filled with different kinds of wine, of varying year, countries, and on the polished oak cabinet is the special collection they only drink on their anniversary.

Jon whistled in appreciation. They both inspected each of the collection in fascination before he got one bottle under “Italy” and she of “France”. They smiled at each other.

“Now what?”

“Well to be honest, I didn’t think we’d go this far.”

Sansa grabbed one of the corkscrews while he got two wine glasses. “You thought I wouldn’t follow through?” She suspected as she removed the corks from their wines. She poured on her glass and he did the same.

“Let’s go to one of the guest rooms. We can’t stay here because I fear you might finish everything.” Jon warns as he drinks like it was water.

She recalled the architecture of the house; eight bedrooms but most are occupied, with corresponding bathrooms, a wide backyard, wonderfully modern kitchen, and a large fireplace in the living room. “Follow me, Jon.” She says and walked upstairs, smiling when she hears his footsteps.

A staff, carrying a tray of oeuvres regarded them with suspicion, two teenagers holding bottles of wine and glasses half-filled.

Sansa lifted her finger to her lips. She laughed when Jon held her hand, impatient as he is, and they went to the second floor. By the time she guided him to the sixth bedroom, the third on the right, they were on their third glass.

The room was like any other room in the house; white to beige decoration, the bed is a four poster canopy with thin translucent curtains, a flat screen television beside the door, a medium sized desk pushed to the left wall and next to it is the bathroom. There is an extension of a balcony here that has an overview of the entire winter resort, blankets of snow for miles and miles around.

She takes off her heels, toes spreading in the snowy rug underneath her feet. Jon removes his blazer, lays it on the plush vintage chair next on the bed.

Sansa sits on the sofa at the foot of the bed, drinking, as Jon flopped beside her. Now it’s quiet. “He cheated on me.” Now she knows she’s drunk. Sense would’ve gripped the reigns tighter; to not open up to someone who doesn’t care about her other than being a reason to wait until his aunt are done socializing. But the wine is loosening her tongue and she’s almost sure that he cares for her in his own way. “He-He was seeing this gorgeous blonde from some other school. I don’t blame him, she’s a beauty.” She finishes her third and proceeds to the fourth. Or is it the fifth? She isn’t sure anymore.

“I blame him for being a dick. I want to punch his smug face. Why did you like him?” Jon slurred, his eyes are hazy but his words are sure and sufficient threat to take it seriously. While waiting for her to formulate an answer, he drinks from his glass.

“My parents liked him. His, uh family is well connected with the Congress and-and he’s so cute to look at! I used to think he’s an angel.” She bitterly answered, laying back and crossed her leg on the other, pouting as she drank.

Jon shakes his head, twisting his body so his leg rested beside hers. He ran his hand through his hair, the sleeves of his crisp t shirt is rolled to his elbows. “You’re the angel not him. You-“ He refills his glass and drinks from it. “You deserve better. Like try this 1912 edition from Florence, it’s fucking heavenly, princess.” He urged.

Sansa got his bottle but she didn’t take note of his hand moving to her neck. She giggled- and she _never_ giggles- when Jon kissed her. Her mouth moves along his, to the dance she keeps on learning much to her delight. She places the things on the table in front of them then cups his face with her hands. She kisses him as ardently as she can as though if she does it enthusiastically enough, immortality is freely given.

But this is must be akin to feeling invincible as though she can endure any hardship if Jon would only kiss her first. She climbs on his lap, nestling on his muscled thighs. She welcomes his wandering hands, roving over her clothed waist but then she squealed when he massages her calves and went up and up until he was squeezing the outsides of her thighs.

“You’re a sly one, jock.” Sansa whispers, his eyes are almost of the night now. Their chests heaved but their hands held the other with an iron grip, mouths so red that it spreads onto their faces.

Jon shifted and scooted her closer. “You’re irresistible. And by the way, your choice of wine is exquisite, nerd.” He commented, his breath was sour by the wine but it felt sweetest on her tongue.

“Yours as well, Jon. Here, let me take another sip.” She shyly introduces her tongue to his, revelling in the groan that she _felt_ all around her rather than hearing it. Sensations are slightly overwhelming her, how _good_ his kissing skills are, at how if Jon asked her of her ex, she wouldn’t recall his name and this made her kiss him harder.

Sansa thinks this is some lucid hallucination, a daydream while she’s chatting with influential people around the globe. And if this isn’t real, her conjuration of the latent yearns she’s been having then she supposed she should take everything she can get. Her hands delve into the mass of curls that have always tempted her whenever she sees him in the corridors of their school, many girls must think the same, crushing on the football quarterback.

But not many get to do what she’s doing and an undeniable surge of pride washed over her. _He’s mine in these small moments._ _Maybe I’m imagining this, being drunk and making out with him._

She leaves his mouth, puffs of hot breath tickle her ear as she goes lower, nibbling on the cords of his neck and pressing tiny kisses here and there. Her hands card through his hair, tilting his neck backwards so her untainted canvas can be filled with scattered blooms of purple and it’s an entirely different sort of art that leaves them both breathless.

“ _Fuck.”_

In any other situation, she would’ve been scandalized or scrunched her nose in distaste at hearing such vulgarity. But now, she laughs on his kiss and sucks a bruise just above his collarbone. She feels her body isn’t her own as she moves to his hands, dragging her hips to some dance she hasn’t known with anyone else.

Is it the wine making everything feel too sweet? How his wandering hands are so intoxicating and if anyone happen to pass by this room, they’d assume they’d be in pain by how they’ve moaned names and Jon’ groans were so deep in his chest it was _animalistic_ even.

Opening one eye, she sees Jon baring his neck even more, his hands cupping her backside, and she scrapes her teeth on his shoulder.

She wrenches her mouth from him, panting heavily and knows feels how tight her dress is, how the pool of lavender reminded her of some silky spilled drink. Grinning, she sees how dark and dazed his expression is. The thrill in her veins could run a small town. “You sound like an animal.” Her voice was huskier, deepening by her want of him.

His plumped lips formed an enticing beam and she mimicked his action knowing damn well she’s the cause of such a beautiful sight. “You’re making me feel like one.” He says before mouthing the curve of her neck, hands pressing on her hips, dancing now resuming its frantic pace.

Then, in a split second, she snatches his bottle of wine, staggering to stand and drinking from it without a glass.

It took him a few moments to realize what had happened and when he did, his swollen mouth curves into a smirk. “Ah, you want it straight out of the bottle huh?” He whines but his voice is hoarse and it sends tingles down her spine. He stood up adjusting his pants and walks up to her in a stance like of a predator. But his steps are clumsy and he staggers and falls on the floor.

Sansa laughs loudly now, sitting next to him on the floor. “Maybe we should sleep. Everything is moving so fast.” She recommended, offering him what she stole.

Jon opened the mini-fridge at the bottom of the dresser and took out two bottles. “We have to drink water or else our hangover will be legendarily tormenting.” He advises and drinks nearly all of it in no time.

She presses a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “And the jock can think.” She muses before finishing hers in a few gulps. When she licks her lips, he kisses her again, slow almost savouring what they won’t remember in the morning. “I’ll sleep now. Goodnight, Jon Targaryen.” She announces, climbing up on the bed. She sheds one layer of blanket for him on the floor and two pillows.

“You won’t invite me on your bed, sweet girl?” Jon asks aloud but already covering the blankets on him.

She peers at him over the edge with an arched brow. “I won’t share a bed who isn’t my husband or at least my boyfriend.” Even inebriated, the teachings of Mother aren’t lost to her. If the older women were to know of this, she would’ve been proud. Other than being scandalized that her daughter stole wine, drank and made out with a boy when a party is happening just a floor below.

“Did you share a bed with Harry?”

“No and I’m glad that I didn’t.” She admits, staring at the pale ceiling above her, her hands resting on her stomach and she thinks this is the most realistic dream she’s ever head.

“I’m glad too.” Jon’ soft agreement is trailed with little puffs of breath, indicating he’s already sleeping.


	2. I Won't Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when one is so in love, fear is right behind them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this is alright

Jon woke up to a girlish shriek and what felt like a soft punch on his stomach.

Languidly, he peels his eyes open, finding it odd he’s wrapped in a sheet and pillows beneath his head. The weirder part is a foot resting on his midriff. He trails it to the person who owns the limb and finds a person he wouldn’t ever expect; Sansa Stark. Not that it isn’t unpleasant because she is far from that, Sansa is a pretty girl that has always (secretly) fascinates him but he doesn’t make any further moves because well, he isn’t sure if she even likes him. Her aloof demeanour could’ve been a sign to turn away but he’s been told he’s stubborn and so he stands his ground.

And right now, Sansa is positively _breath taking._ Her fiery locks are tangled and flows down her shoulders, her face scrunched up in the most adorable manner, and her dress is bunched up high on her thighs so he gets a view of those long pale legs tempting him when he sees her in the school uniform. She makes the dull blazer; polo tucked in her plaid skirt, so lovely to look at, even better it’s on her.

“Jon?”

Her sleepy voice stirred something in him and he’s quick to drag her foot lower so it’s on his calves but his hand absentmindedly massages it. “Sansa, why are we on the floor?” He asks because the events of last night are fuzzy at best.

She shifted and tucks her legs under her. “I woke up on the bed and I accidentally stepped on your stomac-What-why are _you_ even here?” She questioned in a shrill voice, standing up, scanning the room. It was almost tidy except for the two empty bottles of wine, the glasses, and their shoes and his blazer littered the room. “Oh my, what is all this?” She had to lean against of the post of the bed.

Jon stood up only to sit on the edge of the bed. “I only remembered the wine cellar and coming up here.” He says, running his hand down his face and through his hair.

Sansa makes a little panicked voice that he thinks is cute but he won’t say seeing as how she’s acting like the apocalypse is so near. “What-Where are your parents! Jon, where are they? What would they think happened to you? Oh my-“

He takes this as a sign for intervention and stands up. He holds her shoulders and her ramble slowly recedes into nothing. “I’ll call them, okay? It’s no big deal. I’ll just tell them I met some of my friends or something.” He assures her. “But first, I have to take a shower.”

Heat spills on her face and she simpers. _How is she shy when we made out last night?_ He remembers, of course but he withheld this information because she’s fretting and pacing around the room. He can almost feel her lips against his, how different she is with wine is in her blood, how daring and bold she is.

“Okay, I’ll wait for you in my room.”

“Where is your room? I’ll go to yours after I dress.” He calls out as she bends down to retrieve her shoes. He bites back a groan as he remembers what it felt like to hold her on his lap.

Sansa looked at him over her shoulder and he could trace the elegant slope of her nose, how cute her cheeks are. “Across of this room but be quiet, my parents might see you.” She warns before she leaves.  

Shaking his head, he goes to the shower. The cold water did nothing to cool the heated images from last night. As the water slid down his skin, he could almost feel Sansa’s silky hair sliding through his fingers, how addicting it was to kiss her lips in what felt like a million times, and to have his crush chest to chest even when they were drunk.

“I was drunk and now I think I’m in love.” He talks to the pearl white tiles in front of him, slightly banging his head there.

After showering and wearing the clothes form last night, he crosses the corridor before anyone sees and enters and locks the bedroom. “Sans, princess?” He calls, looking around to see where she was.

Sansa emerges from the bathroom but he’s slightly disappointment she isn’t wrapped in a fluffy towel. She’s wearing a light violet turtleneck sweater with jeans and sneakers but her hair was wet and stuck to her heart shaped face.

“Jon, I-I really am sorry I’m a terrible host.” Sansa said in all honesty, her eyes of a glittering summer sky became brighter and even more unfairly hypnotizing. She’s adorably frowning now, hands fidgeting with the ends of the sweater’s sleeves. “I should’ve informed your parents of your whereabouts and now they’re probably out of their mind worried.”

He approaches her but doesn’t initiate any touches. He felt rather awkward doing it knowing she probably doesn’t have the memories like he does, so clear he can see it when he closes his eyes. “It’s not a problem. And I’m in fault too. Now, all we gotta do is figure out how I’ll get home.”

She smiles, bright and it sent butterflies in his stomach. “I’ve thought about that and I already called Roderick and my driver will get you back home. I wish I had clothes that fit you but they’re all girly and Father’s clothes are too big for you.” She answers.

Jon took a moment or two to respond. _You thought about me in the shower?_ It can’t be helped, being a little ah, distracted when he’s so close to the girl he’s basically obsessed with since they were twelve. “That’s real smart. Sneak me out of here, will you?”

She leads him but it was Jon who held her hand. Surprise filtered through expression and he almost apologised but she merely squeezed their hands and they descended downstairs. Thankfully, her parents were probably asleep or out of the house because nothing made a sound save for them.

They stood in the living room and there weren’t any evidences that a party had happened a few hours ago. Everything was spic and span and he thinks it’s the way Sansa and her family are. When they stopped at the front porch, a sleek Bentley was waiting for them.

Sansa turned to him and pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Goodbye, jock.” She softly says.

He intended to leave her with that, enter the car and be precisely four miles away from her. “Give me a proper kiss, you nerd.” He laughs and kisses her fully on the mouth, one hand on her cheek and the other on her waist. He didn’t know where the impulsive urge came from but he’s glad she responded kindly rather than slapping him.

It wasn’t until the driver honked the horn was when they separated, both timid but radiant by the company they’re with. He stares at her for as long as he can when he entered the car and when the car rolls forward, he waves and smiles bigger when she does the same with an even softer beam.

When they were on the road, he whipped out his phone and called his best friend. Tormund answered on the fourth ring. “Hey uh I need to ask you a favour.” He said in a rush.

 _Uh, sure?_ The redhead questioned.

“If my parents ask where I have been last night, just say I was with you, Grenn and the gang, okay?” Jon requested, drumming his fingers on the leather seat he’s on. He knows Tormund is with their other friends at Sam’s rest house, enjoying each other’s company while his parents practically forced him to join them in continuing their tradition. But he’s glad they did for the night he spent with Sansa.

_Okay yeah sure but you owe me an explanation on why._

He rubs his hand down his face and groans. “It’s a bit complicated but I kind of ditched them at a party last night.” Nothing came after that which means the blonde is still waiting for more details. “I-I left them because I was with Sansa-“

_OH MY GOD, you slept with Sansa?_

He cringed at how loud his scream was. “Shut up!” He hissed. “Technically, I spent the night with her. I, I mean yes I slept with her like we were in the same room and-“

_Finally, Jon is got some from his crush since forever._

Jon frowned in hearing Grenn’s voice. “Wait, am I on loud speaker?”

 _You are now, buddy boy._ Grenn’s voice jested with a laugh. _Go on, give us the details._ The effects and music from the video game they’re playing couldn’t be heard. He cringed, knowing they paused the game to fully listen to his humiliation.

“Her ex was at the party and I had to do something-“

 _So you had to fuck her?_ Val’s voice responded and the boys laughed.

“I did _not_ fuck Sansa.” He saw the driver glancing at the mirror above the headboard and she saw Roderick narrow his eyes at him. _I wish I had though._ “Harry was there and he upset her like the fucking asshole that he is. So I got some wine and led her upstairs to drink. Then, we made out and the next thing I know I’m on the floor with her foot on my stomach.”

_You guys definitely fucked._

_As your friends, we’re happy you finally asked her to get drunk with you and fuck while your parents could’ve stepped in her room in any second._

_I salute you, Jon!_

“What no! At least I think we didn’t. She was distraught and mad at her cheating ex and-“

 _And you comforted her in the way only you know how. You guys slept with each other. Oh the danger while your parents are just a floor below._ Tormund taunted with a chuckle. Jon could almost see them forming a loose circle around his friend’s phone, grinning at each other.

“I mean of course I want to sleep with her.” Jon noticed how Roderick failed in trying to pretend he wasn’t listened because he clearly was. He bent lower and cupped his hand on his mouth as he spoke. “Just do what I said okay? I don’t want to debate about this issue anymore.”

 _Johnny boy, there’s no issue. You slept with the girl you’ve been mooing since you were twelve. We’re all happy for you. Now spend some time with your girl sober._ Grenn said and ended the call.

He slumped against the seat when the engine stopped.

“We’re here, sir.” The driver’s icy voice announced.

Before he left, he leaned forward and faced Roderick, the elderly man with salt and pepper hair and  a beard on his cheeks. “I uh I definitely admire Sansa, your client. She’s a really lovely and beautiful girl. And I respect her.” he earnestly confessed.

Roderick’s grey eyes merely stared back at him but a smile twitched on his mouth. “Sir, I’m aware. I was a boy once, you know.” He replied.

It felt like the walk of shame, entering the mansion they’ll be staying for the holidays. The structure was a cosy Queen Anne style, with an extended gazebo, its roof in the shade of spruce, and if it was summer, there’d be a variety of flowers on the front porch. He jogged up the stairs and entered the living room; almost identical to Sansa’s house except there was more hunting souvenirs from Father’s hunting trips.

He went to the kitchen, filling up a glass of water. “I’m so sorry if I worried you with my absence last night.” He started in a shaky voice when the blonde came with a bowl of fruits and placed it on the centre of the marble counter top.

“I wasn’t worried, my nephew. In fact, I’m so delighted.” Daenerys chirped with a grin, popping a fruit into her mouth.

“You weren’t?” He echoed, thinking Tormund called her up after that mortifying phone call.

His aunt grinned and kissed him on the cheek. “Of course I wasn’t concerned! I know how things go. You spent a night at your girlfriend’s house.” She easily answered. “I’m hurt though that you didn’t tell me anything about this relationship. I like Sansa and I’m happy you’re with her.” 

Jon furrowed his eyebrows at how relaxed the answer was.

“You like Sansa?” He can see just how much she approves of his supposed choice and it breaks his heart to tell her the truth. Her nephew is merely drooling over her and he’s too much of a coward to ask her out.

“Of course I do! And I saw how happy you are with her. So if she makes you happy, why not, my son?” She coos and pinches his cheek affectionately. Her eyes of blue, a unique shade that he inherited glittered and her face is genuinely jovial.

He swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “We-Aunt….”

She raised her small hand with a small pride parental smile. “No, no, I don’t have to meet her right now. I’m sure it’s new and you both are figuring things out but when the time feels right, please do.” She said and then she continued to eat grapes like this topic didn’t unravel Jon’s mind, leaving Jon slightly convinced this is some horrible dream. He could’ve chased her and explained truly but he didn’t. Or he didn’t want to, would rather have at least one person believing in his delusions.

When her nephew remained speechless, she continued her horrifyingly embarrassing speech. “Wear a scarf when you go outside. People might think you got mauled by a bear.” She advises with a teasing laugh before exiting the kitchen.

He went to the living room and stood in front of a mirror. None can deny it and anyone within a five feet radius and see the dozens of dark hickeys scattered around his neck, even on the front of his throat, they all varied in sizes. He bit his lip but the smirk still came and he laughed out loud, finding his situation quite peculiar and downright thrilling.

_I’m so fucked that I wished I could’ve slept with Sansa._


	3. And the Ice Melts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seasons come and go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know why i wrote a christmas fic but i did and i hope you guys like this update. comments and kudos are appreciated!!!

Sansa feared her parents would confront her of sleeping in the same room with a boy, no chaperone and soundly sleeping after finishing bottles of wine with the aforementioned boy. But they didn’t and so she relaxed a little bit. She spent half of her morning curled on her bed, listening to music through her phone, and humming the tunes.

Her bedroom door opened and she hastily sat up, seeing Mother didn’t ease her worries. “Get dressed, we’re going out to lunch and then your father and I will go to the Hardyng.” She gave a pause, assessing her frazzled state. “You have to join with us.”

She’s convinced they forcefully forgot the hurt Harry inflicted upon her just so their families can be closer other than business. Curling her hands on the covers, she shook her head. “I-I can’t. I signed up for ice skating lessons.” She lied, finding how easy it is when she’s cornered to a wall and still detesting to even be in the same room as Harry.

Mother sighed. “Fine but lunch is not negotiable.” She then slams the door.

In a daze, she dresses in a hand knitted jumper that she knitted herself and a lilac scarf to complete the look. The restaurant is at the centre of the resort where other people ate as well. Their meal was lively with her siblings chattering about their impending activity, the new things they all wanted to try while they’re in vacation. On the other hand, Sansa was subtly downright miserable and nervous in the same horrid scale.

“Roderick will be at your disposal.” Father said to her after paying for their lunch. He retrieved Mother’s heavy wool coat and handed it to her. His misty grey eyes studied her with warmth and they left a second later.

“Be home by nine.” Mother added in an equal form of iciness the weather around them couldn’t have.

She stood up, planning to return home and read by the crackling fireplace and a mug of hot coco. The place was still crowded even when it was almost two in the afternoon and she dreaded she’d see Harry, prowling, waiting for her to be alone like right now. She intently trailed behind her chattering siblings, grins on their faces and they each discussed which activity they would try first.

Taking her phone out of her pocket, she would’ve called her driver if not for a familiar voice saying her name. She didn’t look up from her phone, tempted to run away and pretend Harry isn’t a few inches before her. But unfortunately, he is.

She tried to move away but he mimicked her movements. “Hardyng.” The ice in his last name is colder than the winter surrounding them. Tilting her chin higher, she observes he’s wearing a thick wool lined jacket, pants, his sunshine locks peeking out from his navy knitted beanie and his gloved hands held skiing equipment.

“Sansa, darling, hello.” It was odd to hear the surprise in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“ _Don’t_ darling me. Also, I was hoping to avoid you because my parents are with yours.” She answers with a snap. If her words were a whip, the boy would’ve gotten a serious laceration.

He raised one of his eyebrows. “I left the moment Mother happened to mention you’re dropping by. We still think the same, I see.” He taunts with that smirk and the smugness that is founded on the truth.

One of the things she used to adore about dating Harry is that there was an effortless communication between them. She used to revel on how effortless they were for each other. They liked many things together, thought in the same pattern but apparently those qualities weren’t enough for him. Her eyes burned and she scowled at him.

“I see your boyfriend’s not here.” He further asks innocently, scanning both ways and seeing they’re the only ones outside of the cosy restaurant and café. “He wouldn’t leave you alone with the way he acted last night. I’d never thought you’d be with Targaryen, though.” He smiles, white teeth shining and the cruelty is brighter on his face.

She risked a glance to her siblings, a few feet from them, noticing how they’re staring at them with furrowed brows, confusion, and most importantly (or deadly for the blonde) protectiveness.

“And why, may I ask?” She found herself asking, hating the way she fell for his trap. The longer they’re talking, the more she realizes how she will always be fooled by him. It’s probably his eyes, so clear and blue, and his smile felt sweeter than any dessert she knows.

He inched closer and his famed smile twisted into a mocking one. “You’re naïve and it looks cute on you. He’s like me, darling.” He briefly answers then brushes his shoulders to hers as he leaves her. In the usual way, of filling her pockets of questions and no answers in return.

She turned and clenched her gloved hands. “He’s _not_ like you. He’s a kind and wonderful guy. He’s better than you.” She insisted with a firm opinion she didn’t know she had for Jon until now. And she found it to be true anyways.

Though she doesn’t know him that much, but from what she knows, he’s far kinder than her ex has ever been. The memories she has, enough to put a blush on her face, featured his concern and maybe genuine care for her.

“He’s the kind of guy who’d string you around, let you hope for something but never give you anything definitive. And I guess that’s what makes you want him. Least I made you my girl before I screwed you up.” Harry laughs at her stunned reaction. "He's a bloody Targaryen, Sansa! Come on, now they're careless players if I may say so."

Robb is suddenly beside her, with Arya and they’re both covering Rickon’s ears. Bran laid a consoling hand on Sansa’s shoulder.

“Any trouble here?” The eldest spits out in ire, his eyes of ice hardening and his frown was set in a firm line.

Arya smiled sweetly, a thing she _never_ does unless it only means trouble. “Fuck off, Hardyng. It’ll be embarrassing to b get beaten to a pulp in public.” She said and it’s accompanied with a saccharine grin as to contradict her thinly veiled threat.

The blonde rolled his eyes. “Gods, you Starks truly are wolves. I was merely giving your darling sister some advice.”

“Shove it up your arse and don’t speak to her again.” Robb calmly urged before motioning for his younger siblings to exit the scene lest he attempts to break the jaw of his sister’s first love.

Sansa dearly wanted to throw snowballs at him. She glowered at the snow they walked on, hating how with one look at her, he saw right through her fears and laid it out in front of her in such a way she can’t ignore.

 _You won’t mean a thing to him after this._ Harry could’ve said and the venom would be all the same, darkening her veins and stopping her heart.

 _I already know that._ She wanted to shout at him but it would be improper. So she walks, head bent, hands in her pockets, and ambles downward, curving along the sidewalk to the sounds of crowds around her, laughing and talking in affection tones.

Sansa breathes a sigh of relief when she spots a dainty café that had an item of hot chocolate in their menu. When she mumbled her thirst, they all agreed to go there. After purchasing a very warm mug of it, she steps out and stays on the front porch, gingerly sipping on the drink and licking her lips at how delectable.

“Jon!” Robb exclaimed in glee, hugging him and Arya is not so far behind in affections for him.

Sansa pushed away the sudden envious feeling at seeing her little sister so snuggled up against the guy she made out with not so long ago. “Afternoon.” She coolly said.

“It really is a good afternoon.” Jon agreed. He’s bundled up in grey and red sweaters and jackets, a knitted beanie on his head, and he wore thick gloves. But some curls of brown peak from underneath his head and his smile is brighter than the summers. “How about I treat the rest of you to hot chocolate?”

None protested and willing pulled him into the café. She remained in her position, not wanting to be another sheep in flock.

“Your siblings do love free things.” Jon mused, appearing beside her, not even glancing at her direction but facing the crowds before them.

“Oh, they adore you too, Jon.” _I need to be away from you because I’d like more kisses._ “Are you going skiing?” Sansa inquired; gesturing to the equipment he’d holding and the goggles on his head.

He nods in affirmation. “I’ve been taking lessons for a couple of years now. It’s fun, princess.” He laugh and she hates how adorable it is the little tinge of pink on his cheeks.

 _Hold your tongue. Alcohol can’t be your excuse now._ “Well, I can’t brag about my non-existent skills in skiing but I can skate. It’s like ballet.” She truthfully says. But she omits the part wherein her first few dates with Harry included skating at some ice rink, holding hands and she clung onto him, giggling and him pressing kisses on her cheek.

“All words from you, Stark. How about you show me?” Jon baited with an arched brow.

She tilted her head to one side, barely hiding her beam. It must’ve been infectious for he smiled too. “I’m wounded, Jon. You actually think I’d lie to you? Some people have said I’m an angel, my siblings specifically.” She teased. Heat spreads through her when he takes up what little space separating them and his eyes is molten grey, as though the clouds have churned a darker shade.

“Yes but your kisses are devilish and sinful.” Jon lowly replies into her ear and though they’re wearing layers of clothes, she still _felt_ the heat of his touch on her arms. His nose bumps against hers and his lush mouth curves in that delightful angle.

Harry’s words grew louder in her head.

So she took a step back, drinking her hot coco. “Careful, you’ll spill this.” She warned with a coy smile. “I spent quite the money for this.”

Jon rolls those tantalizing blue eyes, dimples denting his cheeks. “I can make you one you know, princess. No charge and no trouble.” He says with a smoothness that reminded her of the wine filling their glasses that night, made her latent impulses known. _His voice can make me do dumb things I supposed._

She scrunched her nose. “It must be terrible to be free.” She said with much conviction and hid her laughter in seeing his stupefied expression. _Is he trying to get me to go at his place?_ Groaning, she entered the café and ignored how Jon followed behind her. “Thank you for the drink it was so delicious.” She said to the nearest waitress and returned the mug.

 “Where are you going?” Jon inquired, falling in step beside her as she tries to remember where Roderick would be waiting for her. Or trying to put as much distance as she can without being too obvious she needs it. _Not that he’d care enough to look into my actions._

“Sans, Jon, Rickon is making us go ice skating before we do anything recklessly life threatening. Let’s go!” Arya hurriedly urge and in a snap, breaks the tension between them in a split second.

“I’m going ice skating. I called for a lesson.” Sansa had to make it seem like her lie has substance so it wouldn’t really be a lie. Before she left the house, she hastily set up a reservation of a pair of skating shoes. Just in case Mother would be snooping around the activity centre and find out she didn’t sign up for anything.

“Nice, let’s go then.” Jon nonchalantly declared, tilting his head to an angle that accentuated the sharpness of his jaw. It momentarily distracted her from what he said. “Come on, slow poke vamos princesa.” He laughed, reaching for her hand and though they can’t twine their fingers together, the intention of holding her hand remained.

Sansa barely concealed her dread at this. She made sure none of her siblings saw their intertwined hands swinging between them as they’re engrossed in the topics they continually discuss.

  _I can feel the string pulling me to him. I only need to cut the connection but for the life of me, I won’t ever do that._

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

As they waited for the bored intern to look for their shoe sizes, Jon leaned on one elbow and tugged the ends of his scarf. “My aunt thinks we’re dating.”

Sansa turned to assess him with bewilderment at his casual manner of this mortifying dilemma. “And-and pray tell, what did you say?” She whispered.

“I tried to convince her otherwise but the thick headed woman told me I don’t have to introduce you to them right away. And she’s quite happy for us.” He laughs, crinkles beside his eyes.

 _So you think it’s silly to date me?_ No matter what he did or said, her belief grew stronger each day. She _has_ to be unaffected by him because in the end, it’s her heart that would take all the blows of this foolish admiring (again, crush or maybe at this point, love.) She drummed her fingers against the table, cursing the intern for not finding her size quickly enough.

“I think the most convenient time to announce we’ve separated is after the holidays.” Sansa calmly states, smiling gratefully as the intern gives them their respective shoes. She sat on the nearest empty bench and began to use and tie the pale laces.

Jon did the same and glanced at her multiple times until he decided to finally speak. “Why do we need to do that?” He asked in such an incredulous tone it surprised Sansa.

She narrowed her eyes. “If anyone at school somehow found out, because those busy bodies will, then your reputation will take a hit. And besides, we’re not really dating!” She reiterates as he held her hand and together they entered the skating zone.

There were various activities going on the wide oval rink. Children were squealing in fright, mentors were giving out instructions to their students with a pointed look, groups of friends were laughing as they skidded on the smooth surface. Parents crowded all around, keenly observing and had their phones taking videos and pictures, shouting encouragements and waving.

Rickon was frantic on the icy surfacing, garnering Robb’s and Arya’s attention as they chased their wild brother. Bran was busy talking to one of the girls behind the snack bar with a shy smile that matched hers.

Jon yelped and tugged her rather harshly that Sansa nearly toppled over if not for her quick reflexes. He scowled when Sansa bit back, but failed, her laugh. “Does my embarrassment amuse you?” He groaned.

“What’s wrong, Jon? Your football coach doesn’t include skating in your practice drills.” Sansa teased lightly but she revelled on his iron grip, digging deep on the fold of her arm and even then she felt his heat. When she properly balanced herself, she glided over away from him, he uttered a cruse but she stood before him, holding his hands. “Hey, I won’t leave you.” _I don’t think I can._

“How the hell does that eight year old be better at me than this?” Jon complained, inching towards her, his skating shoes scraping but his movements were so minimal. He probably moved two inches while Sansa could’ve skated the entire premise and not break a sweat.

“Never mind that. Focus on me.” Sansa says, bringing him closer and with his warmth, she wouldn’t know it was winter; they’re standing on a thin ice. And perhaps, they’re figuratively on a ground of delicate holding, one wrong move and they could be plunged in frozen water, filling their lungs but this proximity makes her breathless nonetheless.

She stretched their hands, smiling when Jon resembled a tentative puppy, a fawn only learning how to walk. The level of cuteness can’t be measured and she smiles when she noted how joyous he is. If she has any courage, she could’ve derived his happiness from her but she won’t.

They were making progress in what felt like decades instead of an hour blending into two hours. Even if Jon got a hold of walking without his feet scrambling in panic and fall flat on his face, he still kept her at his side, hand on her waist.

“You’re a quick learner, give or take three years.” She said, her arm is also slung on his waist, beneath his heavy woollen jacket. The thick of his sweater can be felt and there’s an odd comfort to this, to _him._

They were straying away from the edges where rails are provided for beginners. Jon snorted. “That just means you’re not a good teacher.” He pointedly retorted. When Sansa slipped away, he cursed once more and tried, as careful, to reach her again, just a few feet in front of him.

She’s perfectly still, hands behind her back, head tilted to one side and her adored expression is aimed at him. “Come on, you can do it.” She urged.

It was the sight of her open arms, the way her smile could’ve burned a hold through a mountain of snow, the way he would’ve moved through hell and back if it meant she’d be waiting for him like this. When he was in arms reach, he launched himself to her, arms coiling like snakes on its prey. Not missing a beat, he dug his face on her shoulder, her silky hair tickling his face and he welcomed it all.

“Jon, you won’t fall. I’m here.” She assures him lowly. Then, her arms dangle on his shoulders and it seems they were dancing to no song but the beats of their hearts, thuds against their chest.

 _I think I already have._ He noses her cheek. “Okay, so maybe you’re a decent mentor.” His attention roves over her flushed cheeks, pinker lips, and with her body snug against his. The oddest sense of home settled deep in his bones, undeniable and so fulfilling he could taste the glitters of his fantasy.

“Miss Stark.” A solemn voice called out.

Sansa yelped and turned to one side to see her driver. She skated to the edge, fully aware how Jon was making such small progress but stood beside her in a matter of minutes. “Roderick! I was looking for you.”

He nodded. “Your mother mentioned a skating lesson so I went here. Shall we go, ma’am? Her tea with the Hardyng will be over soon. You all need to pack for the flight tonight.” He informed her in that monotonous tone. He scans the crowd and when he spots Arya and Robb cradling Rickon, as to not escape their firm grip, he walks towards them. The driver being completely unaware of the strain he left to the teenagers.

“You’re leaving?” Jon caught on, frowning when she avoided eye contact and merely nodded. A hollow feeling moved within his chest, perhaps a tentative wave crashing against his ribs. At the thought of escaping this fantasy never occurred to him. Her smile tends to make him forget anything but this tantalizing pull between them.

“We always host a party before we go back, Jon.” Sansa quietly informs him, her gloved hands fiddling with the other as she refuses to look him in the eye now. “Excuse me, I-I have to go.”

He catches her arm, his attention tending to how vacant her face is; as though to try and make him feel like the hours spent together meant nothing, Maybe he’s feeling reckless or acting on the dreams now dictating his actions in hoping for them. But what exactly? He doesn’t want to know now, pushes the thoughts away.

He unnecessarily tucks dark strands of her hair behind her ear, dearly wishing there was more time. So he could gather his scattered courage and ask her out. “Have a safe flight.” He says with finality.

Hating how he turned away from her, how hurt cracked though her blank mask. He moved himself away from her to the other end of the ice rink; not even scared of this sport anymore, not when his heart has fissures from the quakes he tries to suppress.

Risking a look over his shoulder, Sansa and her siblings are gone. He closed his eyes, half in agony and the other at self-loathing. Regret nearly made it difficult to breathe and he curled his fists on the metallic railings.

 


	4. End with a Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this is alright.

Sansa woke up to New Years’ Eve to no commotion at all. Usually, at precisely ten in the morning, the living room and living room would be filled with preparations for the party in a few hours. Mother should be talking with caterers, her assistant Jeyne, and organizers for the party. She shouldn’t be sitting on the beige sofa, mug of tea on leather coaster and reading the newspaper.

Confusion must’ve been more apparent than she expected because the blonde noticed it. “Dear, the Targaryens have invited us to their New Year Eve’s party.” She nonchalantly announced.

Sansa quickly pushes down the gasp that threatens to fly out of her mouth, knowing it could only lead to questions. Tucking in her frown, she nods because her throat is dry and anxiety thuds along her veins. “That’s nice of them.” It’s a miracle how calm she sounded for storms brewed in her chest and whirlwind of possibilities flew in her mind.

“Yes, yes Daenerys personally phoned me and faxed an invitation. It starts at seven. I have your outfit planned and I’ll have a maid set it in your room.” Catelyn grinned and nodded. "Robb and Arya will be with their friends in some party and Bran volunteered to babysit Rickon for the night as en excuse. Would you want to join us?"” She questions.

 _Tell her a lie. Tell her you'll hangout with your friends too!_ "I wouldn't mind going with you, Mother." She replies in a dutiful tone. Cursing hrself internaly for being so weak for a guy she isn't even sure likes her back.

"That's wonderful dear. Now go eat breakfast love."  

Sansa stepped into the kitchen but paused, her eyes wide at seeing the other person in the kitchen.

“Well don’t just stand there. Give me a hug, Sans!”

At the sound of his voice, from so long not hearing it other than rushed phone calls, she raced towards him, arms circling his neck. She giggles into his neck as he spins her around. When her feet touched the ground, her hands go to his sides.

“I’ve missed you so much, Willas!”She squealed in glee.

Her childhood friend grinned, his pearly white teeth glinting and his dark cinnamon eyes lighter at this time. “I’ve missed you too. Madrid was so amazing!” He exclaimed.

It’s evident that he has been in a tropical country for he only wore a loose cotton shirt, unbutton so she got a glimpse of his chiselled chest. From skin resembling milk, he now acquired a tan and still it suited him quite well. His chocolate locks fell about messily and Sansa couldn’t believe he’s here again. They don’t spend a lot of time together seeing as how he studies at an all boys school abroad and their breaks are the only true time to bond. Sadly, Willas hitched a ride with his boyfriend, and spent Christmas there.

“Tell me all about it then.” Sansa urges as they sat beside one another around the kitchen table. Plates of waffles, dosed in syrup, and glasses of orange juices are served to them. She took a thin slice and happily ate it.

She intently listened to the stories Willas animatedly narrated as he also ate his plate of food. Her companion is often too much like her, obedient to the very letter but with his friend he’s often wild and uninhibited. She laughs at the amount of ridiculous content he’s telling her, in awe of the places he and his friends went and he took on his phone.

She scrolls through the numerous photos. “Ah, I see you finally met his parents. Tell me how horrid was that experience?” She teased, knowing full well anyone who knew Willas would be delighted in his presence.

He rolled his brown eyes in exasperation. “Oh ha ha. Just so you know; his parents ate from the palm of my hand like a horse nibbling on sugar cubes. They love me and I love him and his parents.” He said with that adored expression.

Sansa wanted to experience that as well. To be blissful in love, to have acceptance but what she got is a broken heart, a misguided mother, and a party she’s dreading to attend.

“How about you, Sans? Rubbed elbows with our congressmen?” He teased but then his eyebrows shot up at the fierce blush covering her face.

Inspecting Mother, reading the newspaper, she knew her bizarre story would still be heard at that distance. “Let’s go outside.” She said, holding his hand and leading him out on the frozen patio. “This is a long and confusion tale.” She warned as she sat down on the bench, fashioned into a swing.

Willas was grinning deviously now. “Holy shit, you did something that your mother wouldn’t approve? Oh do tell, sweet one.” He teased and leaned back, letting the swing move back and forth.

She recounted her times with Jon, in painfully details, so she avoided looking at Willas and instead stared at her hands. It was hard, now that she thinks about, elaborating on how Jon was so kind to her, so _affectionate_ in ways Harry never was. In the ways she has wanted Jon to act for the longest time but now, memories and a broken heart are what she got from him.

It took several minutes for Willas to process the entire story before reacting.

He runs his hand through his hair and contemplation is plain on his face. “Harry being an ass, as usual. You know, I never understood why you dated him for that long. He’s at most a seven.” He lightly reprimands but brings her closer to his side and kissing her forehead. “And now his mother thinks you’re still her daughter-in-law. Man, I’d want to be your plus one on this.” He said, stretching his arm so it rests behind her.

“She thinks I’m dating her son, not married to him.” She corrects him with a scowl.

“Same difference because we’re going and you’ll confront this boy. He is obviously smitten with you.” Willas decreed like it was a law a citizen has to abide by. He crossed his leg on top of the other and he flashed her a smile.

“You’re going with us?”

He laughed and ruffled her bed hair, mussing it up even more. “Of course I’m joining! The impending drama just within our reach is too potent to miss. And besides without Jeyne in our midst, you might do something dumb like call in sick or something.” He accused with narrowed eyes and his mouth became pinched.

She simpered, hating how Willas understands train of thought much more perfectly than she anticipates. “He’s not smitten with me, you dolt. It’s like one of summer romance but it’s in winter. Fleeting feelings and what not.”

“We’ll see who’s right, skipper. Now, can we go in? You’re in a nun’s nightdress and I think my balls are frozen.”

Sansa followed behind him, laughing.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jon hated parties, even more so if his aunt is hosting one. There were lots of noises and they all woke him up in the ungodly time of ten instead of his usual time of after lunch. Groggy, he ambles to the living room in nothing but a loose shirt and baggy sweatpants.

He munches on his cereal; the distant voices are recognized to be his aunt amiably chatting with the party planner about God knows what. He scrolls through his phone, his eyes heavy with sleep.

“Oh, good morning love!” Daenerys  chirped as she drops a kiss on his cheek. She filled a glass of water and flashed a beam at her. She’s always been enthusiastic in playing host, too much in his opinion so it isn’t a surprise their living room is buzzing with activity.

“Morning. What time is the party?” He asks because then, he would have time to avoid this floor and hide in his room until it’s absolutely necessary. He couldn’t ditch his parents for his friends because though he’ll be allowed, she will be disappointed. And he can’t have that on his conscience as he takes shots and dances to remixed songs into the New Year.

Daenerys sips a fraction of water. “Oh seven so plenty of time to get dressed! We have surprise guests as well.” She says with a wink that worries him greatly.

“It is the musical guest?” He questioned, drinking his orange juice.

“It’s a secret!” She tuts before exiting the kitchen and calls for the caterer, who came grumbling behind her.

He winds up in his bedroom, sprawled on the floor as he played video games. In a particularly intense part, his phone rings. Rolling his eyes at seeing the redhead’s name, he pauses the game and answers. “Yeah?”

_I think Sansa has a boyfriend._

The bombshell of a statement rendered him speechless for a minute or two. He stared at the floor, his free hand had drop the controller and now rests on his knee. _Is it me?_ He wanted to joke but the feeling of happiness has been flushed out his system and is now replaced by dread, by sadness, by subtle flames of fury.

“What?” It’s all he can push out of his mouth, his throat dry and he leans against the foot of the bed. His legs stretched out and he awaits the reply, more tortuous details behind what he just heard.

 _Well, Val decided to stalk your crush. And we saw her recent post._ Tormund explained in a gentler tone, contrasting to Val’s rushed and blatant tone.

  _She took a pic of two hot coco and this very much hot guy across of her._ The redhead supplied and sounds of shuffling shoes met his ears. _The caption goes ‘He’s back! Willas, I missed you.’ with precisely four heart emojis so I guess they’re steady._

 _Sent you a screenshot of it._ Grenn yelled at the background.

_She did tag the men but his account is private. Judging by the comments, their friends like them together._

“I-I don’t know why you all are informing me on this. I thought I made it clear nothing would’ve happened anyways!” He protested, something akin to a black hole stretching wider in his chest. Then, he hung up the call much to his friends’ protests.

 _Lucky guy,_ he said, staring at the photo. The guy’s smile was not aimed at the camera but to the person taking the photo which is undoubtedly Sansa. He wonders now, in adolescent agony, what they’re doing right now.

Is this why Sansa is so hesitant around him? Why didn’t she tell him her boyfriend was only away for the holidays? He didn’t suspect Sansa would be the type to be unfaithful but the evidences are found in the bittersweet memories from the night they spent together. Reasons and excuses alike filled his head, both defending and cursing her until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Apparently there are lots of things to do when hosting a party. He stands beside his mother as she run through the catering services. They discussed the items of the menu even the wine choices took nearly an hour because the people flooding in ten hours from now are very particular in what their taste buds are exposed to. He even gave some suggestions but never knowing if it’s correct or not because aunt Daenerys seemed to be delighted anyways.

He assisted some of the staff in putting out tables on their vats backyard, seemingly endless with the grass and lines of trees in the horizon. The white cloth covering the circular the tables and he doesn’t mind at all. He will do anything to keep Sansa and her perfect boyfriend out of his mind. And for a time, it works.

“Go take a shower, will you? You’re sweating.” Daenerys reprimands and slaps his arm. She pats his cheek in the next second. “Thank you for helping me here.”

“No problem.” Jon answers back before he strode to his bedroom.

By the time he went downstairs, dressed in the classical suit that she rented for him, he could see some guests lingering about in the living room. He greeted them with a fixed smile, shaking hands and kissing the hands of the women. They recited the expected praises of their house, of how elegant the party is tonight, with the matching fixed smile on their faces.

Asking a drink from a waitress, he got pink champagne and he noticed how more people were entering the house. With his friends miles away in their respective families or parties, he’s left alone in the midst of politicians, co-workers, and some clients of his parents. _Is this how she felt?_

As though he summoned her with his thoughts alone, Sansa stood in beside her parents. Jon may be a little biased in firmly stating she’s the most elegant and beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Her fiery hair cascading down one shoulder in an intricate braid, brushing the side of her heart shaped face. She wore a silvery dress, the silk of it convinced Jon she stole some shed of moonlight and spun it around for her outfit. It stops on her knees so her pale legs is a feast for his eyes, her feet adorned in simple black heels. The sleeves rest on her wrists but the cloth is transparent but the rest are stitched with flowery designs.

“I invited them.” A voice chirps from beside him that Jon jumps on his spot. To his right, his mother, smirking and innocently sipping from her martini.

Jon’s eyes go wide. “What?” He exclaimed in fright.

The blonde shrugs. “I want to get to know your girlfriend, my nephew. And oh, she looks positively radiant tonight! Now come on, let’s greet them.” She demanded, looping her arm through his and pushed forward in the crowd. She has surprising amount of strength; it must be from all that yoga.

The rejection grew heavy on his tongue when he saw Sansa’s boyfriend at her side. Both of them were beaming at each other and he nearly ripped his arm from his mother to just _get away._ He can feel the cracks in his heart all the more when it roared in his ears. This is possibly the worst surprise in history, he sulked.

“I’m so glad you all made it!” Daenerys says with a grin, hugging Sansa’s parents. She patted Sansa’s cheek. “Oh, you’re so beautiful tonight! Isn’t that right, Jon?” She baited.

When her bright eyes landed on him, he felt like the world stopped moving, maybe his heart stopped beating as well and he died with the last sight as Sansa almost resembling a bride for him. He eyed the grinning boy, harshly reminding him that someone else gets to properly moon over her, and so the coldness slips back into his words.

“Yes, she is. Please, enjoy the party and the food.” He says in an aloof tone that temporarily confuses Mother.

Sansa doesn’t skip a beat and stiffly nods, her hands curling more on the shining grey clutch. “Yes of course we will.” She replied.

This made him gaze at her pink mouth, coated in lipstick. Oh how he wanted those lips on his neck, his mouth, leaving smears of lipstick on his skin so people know he’s hers. _She’s my forever temptation, I’m afraid._

Sansa’s mother; carefully led them to where she recognized some of her clients. Ever so subtle, the girl of his dreams looked at him over her shoulder, worried and maybe a little of that love he thinks she doesn’t have for him.

Daenerys stands in front of him, hand on her hip, and a frown on her mouth. “What was _that_? Did you and Sansa fight? You better make it up!” She said in ire.

“Look, we’re not dating okay?” He all but whispered yelled, inching towards her so no one else can eavesdrop. “And that guy with her? Yeah that’s her real boyfriend.”

She frowns even more at the truth. Sighing, she patted his cheek. “Ah, I apologise my newphew. I didn’t know! How about you go dance with some heiresses? No one can deny a request from such a handsome boy!” She cooed and dropped another kiss on his cheek before sauntering to Father with a lovesick smile.

He knew he had to create some distractions so no one would detect the puppy look he keeps on giving at Sansa’s way. Taking up his aunt’s advice, he twirled girls around his age around the dance floor, laughing, and giving them a polite distance because he would only compare them to Sansa, his darling sweet crush. She’s probably giggling over some dumb joke her perfect boyfriend is telling her. They’d probably kiss at the strike of New Year and his heart broke a little more.

In retaliation, he brought the faceless and nameless girls closer, whispering flirtations to the ears and giving them that smile he noticed girls always want from him. They give him sparkling beams, eyes that are bright, and they’re responsive to his touches. _Sansa’s smile is shyer but the prettiest sight of all,_ a voice in the back of his mind. He ticks his jaw, detesting how nothing could stray him from Sansa.

He takes a break, walking over to the bar and he drank his second glass of pink champagne. Unintentionally, his eyes scan the busy scene in front of him, looking for the only one who mattered to him. With a scowl, he swallows the remaining of the drink, ordering another one. He gazes at Sansa, at the guy’s side, her face upturned, her smile curving in the sweetest curve.

He recalled the times he inhaled her sighs like the most fragrant perfumes, their mouths dancing in the most sensual dance he’s known, and everything about her is _intoxicating._ At the back of his mind, he fears he won’t ever be willing to escape her hold.

The guy whispered something in her ear and she looks at his direction and he fears they can see the longing in his eyes. To Jon’s horror, Sansa started to walk towards him, her head in the air and he can almost see the golden crown that cradles her head.

He wants to move, to escape her softened expression because he knows what she’ll say. _What we had is a mistake. I love him and you were there._ His throat is tight and _yet_ his feet stubbornly cement themselves on the floor and he can’t move away from her enthralling eyes. At least now, Jon can hear her rejection clearly, in her silvery voice, so his heart can finally let go of this damning hope that’s been growing in his chest he can’t breathe when he thinks of her.

“Jon,” she says so softly he hates her for it. “Can we talk outside?” She requests.

Ah, he catches on, she doesn’t want him to cause a scene seeing as how he’s tipsy and quite so in love with her. He follows her into the gardens. Flowers, shrubberies in exotic categories are bathed in the moonlight making them all pale and glittery.

“I’m sorry I left the other day.” Sansa murmurs. _I’m sorry I’ll leave you alone now._

Perhaps he’s too pessimistic, has _to be_ negative because being head in the clouds delusional won’t help his case. He nods. “It’s alright. You needed to pack. I’m sorry if I kept you away too long from your packing.” He stiffly replies, kind and cold and his hands itch to hold her close but he won’t.

“Jon, I-“ But _Gods,_ he loves the way she says his name, can feel the memory of her, on his skin whenever she whispers his name. “Can you forgive me?” Her eyes go wider and her lips glisten in the innate light of the night.

 _I’ll forgive you even if you commit murder. You can do no wrong in my eyes, damn it._ He doesn’t say these things, far too reluctant in being vulnerable when he doesn’t have the right. “There’s nothing to forgive. Everything is fine, Sans. Why don’t we go inside? I bet your boyfriend is looking for you now.” He pointedly stated, his hands digging into his pockets so he can resist in holding her.

Her eyebrows scrunched. “Boyfriend? I’m not dating Willas.” She clarifies, then her eyes go wide and a smile quirks on the corner of her mouth. “Is that why you’ve been distant to me? You think I’m dating him?”

Jon could only stare at her, in shock, relief, but most of all confusion. “Didn’t you post a pic of your reunion with him?” He dumbly asked, cringing at how much of a stalker he sounds. He simpers at hearing her melody of a giggle.

She’s bold now, taking a step closer, resting her hand on his chest so they both can feel the thunderous heartbeats. “Jon, he’s my best friend. He came back from meeting the parents of his boyfriend.”

His hand creeps up to hers so he can cradle her hand. “Aren’t you here for the same thing?” He grins, breaking through his mask at seeing her blush so prettily. He kisses the bumps of her knuckles more reverently than he did with the other girls tonight. “I’m sorry I’m an idiot.”

“Are you my idiot though?” Sansa lovingly requested; her eyelashes flutter on the round of her cheeks; such a sight he will never tire of.

 “Sansa Bristol, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” Jon earnestly declared. And without a moment of thought, pulled her closer to kiss but she clamps her hand over his lips. He arched a brow.

“They’re counting down! If we kiss in the stroke of midnight, we’ll be together forever.” Sansa supplied and her hands curl on the lapel of his blazer.

True to her words, the crowd in his living room were gathered around the grandfather clock, handing glasses and their loved ones. None seem to notice Jon is leaning on the marble column of the garden and he’s chest to chest with Sansa.

_5, 4, 3, 2, 1-_

At the precise moment the guests cheered, Jon bent down and caught her willing mouth in a heady kiss. He grinned when her arms went around his neck, fingers digging into his curls. His hands wound around her hips in kind, pulling her closer so there was not a silver of space for separation. They move as though they were singing a duet of sighs and moans that only consisted of each other’s name.

Jon broke the kiss, head titled back on the pillar while Sansa is on her toes as she peppers her cheek and jaw with tiny kisses. “For your information, we don’t need a New Year’s kiss to be eternally forever. Your constant need of my annoyance is enough.”

She laughs at the spot behind his ear. He shivers and his hand cups her backside, not at all concerned of anyone seeing them in a compromising position. “I know that darling. There’s nothing wrong with a little assurance, hmm?” She hums and kisses him again, this time nibbling on his lower lip.

He kissed her even harder, his hands roving everywhere, delighting at how the soft dress miraculously made her softer and even _more_ tempting. “And to think we don’t actually need mistletoes or alcohol to set us up.” He murmurs.

“Stop talking and kiss me, Jon my love.” She demands.

And being her ever so faithful boyfriend, he does.

 

 


End file.
